


what solace can be struck from rock

by solfell



Series: we begin in the dark. [the maallinen-briars] [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Cults, Family, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Parenthood, Past Torture, Personal Growth, Psychological Trauma, Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 39
Words: 15,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22816777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solfell/pseuds/solfell
Summary: Reflections and writings on Kishore Maallinen, goliath shadow monk, recovered cultist, and recent resident of Westruun. Can and will punch all five of Tiamat's heads.Cross-posted from tumblr.
Relationships: Original Character(s) & Original Character(s)
Series: we begin in the dark. [the maallinen-briars] [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1639141
Kudos: 1





	1. Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> [Related works about Cihro, the most beautiful of all the bastards and one of Kishore's party members.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22795222)
> 
> \---
> 
> Water in the millrace, through a sluice of stone,  
> plunges headlong into that black pond  
> where, absurd and out-of-season, a single swan  
> floats chaste as snow, taunting the clouded mind  
> which hungers to haul the white reflection down.
> 
> The austere sun descends above the fen,  
> an orange cyclops-eye, scorning to look  
> longer on this landscape of chagrin;  
> feathered dark in thought, I stalk like a rook,  
> brooding as the winter night comes on.
> 
> Last summer's reeds are all engraved in ice  
> as is your image in my eye; dry frost  
> glazes the window of my hurt; what solace  
> can be struck from rock to make heart's waste  
> grow green again? Who'd walk in this bleak place?
> 
>  _Winter Landscape, with Rooks_ by Sylvia Plath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Training with Thea in the moments before freedom

Thea is an unyielding taskmaster. It’s the way of things--the only time Thea ever went easy on Kishore was during the last few months of her pregnancy, and even then Thea demanded perfection. Which was difficult to achieve when feeling like a bloated carcass.

Sweat drips down Kishore’s temples, and her thin shirt sticks uncomfortably to her skin. The air is cool, but it doesn’t help much. Deeper down in the mountain’s mines are places where Kishore can see her breath. She tries to imagine she’s in one of those corners now.

“Again,” Thea barks. She stands near the cave entrance, like a sentinel, hands clasped at the small of her back. She’s nearly two feet shorter than Kishore, yet she carries herself with a precise confidence that makes her seem taller.

It’s unfair that elves live for so long--they have the time to master themselves, to embody and project the best parts of who they are. At least, that’s what Thea’s done. Kishore hasn’t had much occasion to talk much with the other elves here.

She leans against her staff for a single moment, lets it be the walking stick people think she needs, then throws herself into drills again.

“Watch your feet,” Thea warns. She moves from her post and circles around Kishore, dark eyes sharp and critical.

There’s shouting from beyond the cave entrance. Silence, then the pounding of feet. It gets louder and louder, and the voices start up again. The sounds seem to be coming from the floors above and below, and they continue to grow as the seconds pass.

There’s a distinct word that Kishore catches in all the din: “Intruders!”

Thea’s face falls into an impassive mask. She holds Kishore’s gaze. “Are you ready?”

Kishore leans back on her heels. “For what?”

“Freedom.”


	2. Teacher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the light of day, Kishore’s relationship with Thea becomes complicated

There’s a voice in the back of Kishore’s head that tells her to walk away from Thea and never look back. It’s the voice that says, “I’d rather die than live one more day beneath Tiamat’s claw.” It’s the voice that tells her, “You are free, and not beholden to the person they forced you to be.”

But Kishore can’t abandon her past. She carries it, as she must, and Thea is part of that. Without Thea, Kishore would’ve never learned how to defend herself, or how to sleep despite the nightmares, or how to push through the impossible and do what must be done.

> your ankle is shattered from the first cave-in but you keep going because rocks are still falling and you will not die here
> 
> the drug in you veins makes the world hazy and you want to sleep but don’t you dare close your eyes, you will be awake for whatever happens 
> 
> that child inside you is coming into the world, she won’t wait anymore, and you hate that this is the world you’ve giving her, but there’s no choice

Kishore’s mother taught her how to read and write. Venu taught Kishore math and geography. Venu etched the stars onto the ceiling of their cell, and showed Kishore how to navigate at night. She told her how to distinguish one type of cloud from another, and which ones foretold storms. Venu talked of the seasons and their passings–and Kishore learned, even if she’d never seen an autumn-red leaf, or snow, or rain. 

Venu showed Kishore what freedom could be, while Thea taught Kishore how to keep that freedom once she had it.

The voice in Kishore’s head says, “Thea gave you tools. Don’t let her take them from you.” Because here’s the truth: Kishore loves Thea, and wants to believe that Thea loves her, too, but she doesn’t know. Truth is a flimsy and wayward thing when the heart is involved. 

“Don’t stumble now,” the voice admonishes. “You’ll never know everything.”

When it comes to Thea, Kishore’s knowledge is enough to fill a thimble and not much more. 

She’s trying to keep her feet steady. She knows the path is perilous. 


	3. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reflections on Kishore’s father, Ameya’s father, knowledge, and the ways in which a person can be saved

Kishore’s father joined the cult fully when she was still very young. She saw him only a handful of times throughout her life, and he never seemed to notice or recognize her. Maybe he didn’t actually know who she was, but part of her thinks that he didn’t—or couldn’t—care about her.

Kishore may not know every tenant of the Scaled Tyrant, but she knows the core teachings. She knows that love has no place in the eyes of Tiamat. There’s greed and envy and hoarded wealth. There’s forceful conquest and viciously guarded power. Love is ultimately incompatible with Tiamat’s edicts.

Perhaps that should’ve been a sign to Kishore that she wasn’t meant to stay with the cult. There’s always been something hard and harsh within her, yes, but that darkness is tempered by the love she has for her family.

—

Kishore has no strong feelings about Vakan, Ameya’s father. Maybe she should feel something—maybe she should feel the same way her mother feels about her father. But Kishore wasn’t born into freedom like her mother was, and so she can’t afford the feelings of a free person.

Here’s the truth: Kishore doesn’t have strong feelings about Vakan, and for all she knows he’s still sitting beneath Tiamat’s claw. Vakan was a tool to help Kishore affirm her place in the temple hierarchy.

Ameya was meant to be a gift to the Prismatic Queen.

It was a mistake. Kishore should’ve known better than to believe that she could give her own child away. It was easy to dismiss Vakan, therefore it should’ve been easy to dismiss Ameya. Early in her pregnancy, she realized that her heart was in a very different place than her head.

Kishore did not meet Thea until she was nineteen years old. She was four months pregnant at the time. A quiet desperation filled every inch of her being, and that desperation was slowly turning into hopelessness.

Here’s another truth: Kishore has spent her whole life being saved by other people. First it was her mother, whose teachings helped keep Kishore’s mind free enough to shake off the cult’s control. Second, it was her siblings. They gave her reason to get up each day, to keep fighting for something other than herself. Third, it was Ameya, though unborn. Fourth was Thea, who saw Kishore for who she could be, not who she was. (Fifth was Storm and Hope, who shepherded Kishore’s family into freedom, but that happens later, when Kishore can appreciate them.)


	4. Scatter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fuck this tomb and fuck that undead elven king guy!!! He deserved to get punched in the chest!!!

For all of Kishore’s attempted composure, the moments after a fight ends are the most difficult for her. Her mind doesn’t want to break out of “fight mode.” It doesn’t want to believe that she can take a step back and breathe.

She pulls her fist out of the creature’s chest, and watches it slump down. Its body shivers and dissipates into ashes. Her hand stays clenched tight; maybe no one will notice that she’s shaking.

That monster dared to speak to her about her daughter. It wanted to possess Kishore’s body, and used Ameya as a bargaining chip. That was a mistake.

Kishore doesn’t know much about the world, and the more time she spends in it the more she realizes how much the cult has stolen from her. But here is something she knows: do not trust dead things. Do not look into the shadows and expect truth and light. Kishore knows the dark like she knows herself. This creature was nothing but hollow promises tied together by evil intent and sweet-sounding words.

Her lacerated skin stings with poison and weeps blood. It got lucky, injuring her like that. She stares hard at the entity’s ashes. Part of her wants to spit on the ground where the creature one stood. Instead, she scatters its remains with a simple swipe of her boot.


	5. Almost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day brings Kishore back from the edge of death during the banshee fight

“Kishore!”

Her name rings through her mind, reverberating through every bruised bone in her body. Day’s voice is layered with power. It forces air and life back into her struggling lungs.

 _Yes, that is me. I am Kishore_ , she thinks and sits up. The world spins around her, but not like it did the night before, when she kept drinking and couldn’t stop even when her mind told her to. At the very least, last night was almost fun until it wasn’t. This is a different sensation, one that makes her feel ill to her very core. 

She wipes the blood from her nose and tries not to stumble when she stands. Her mother once told her of banshees, about how their screams could kill. She believed her mother’s stories, but never thought she’d encounter such a creature. Then again, she’s met many strange beings and monsters recently. Nothing should surprise her anymore. 

Her hands press against her sides, checking sore ribs for breaks. When she closes her eyes and takes stock of her body, she’s struck by the thought _I almost died. I was nearly dead._ And in her gut she knows it’s true, that she came very close to dying.

She keeps her eyes closed, and takes a deep breath even though it hurts. 


	6. Rooftop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meditating on the Silvercut tavern’s roof; Hope’s presence keeps her calm

She doesn’t remember the tavern being so noisy the last time she was here. It doesn’t look like there are more people in the room, but it feels like it. After scarfing down her food, she escapes to the roof. Hope is already there. She smiles—it’s a soft, easy smile that few people see—and sits beside him.

Before closing her eyes to meditate, she takes a moment to gaze at the stars. It’s almost a clear night—a few feathery clouds drift near the horizon. Judging by the direction of the breeze, tomorrow will be a nice day. No rain.

She searches for the constellations she knows, the ones her mother etched into the ceiling of their cell. Even though she doesn’t know the stories behind every shape, knowing their names brings a degree of comfort. 

Her eyes fall shut and she does nothing but breathe for a long while. She settles into her meditation, archives every ache in her body, and then she lets her mind wander. She hates this part sometimes, but she can’t move forward until she recognizes what’s making her chest feel heavy and tight.

The thought appears: Kishore doesn’t know what kind of person she is. At first, when she was new to freedom, she thought that was normal and fine. Now, it’s been months and there are times when she feels like she’s moving in twelve directions at once. It’s by the grace of her physical form that she doesn’t just shatter into the wind. Some days are worse than others.

Just a few days ago she killed a man who was unarmed and unconscious. She doesn’t regret it—if she hadn’t killed him, then Hope would have. Hope, who is tied to the Swords’ rules, who she worries for. She can’t regret killing a potential threat, not when her inaction could hurt her family. And if she’s reprimanded or punished by the Swords later, then that’s fine. She accepts that. She’s had worse.

But none of that really says who she is. She killed a person. She will kill more before her time is done. Maybe that makes her bloodthirsty or brutal. Maybe she is someone who doesn’t care until she does, someone who has tied herself to a handful of people, regardless of the consequences. Maybe she’s a fool, for all that and more. 

What’s worse than not knowing who she is now, Kishore doesn’t know what kind of person she wants to be.

There are no answers for her. No real peace, at least not yet.

Normally, it’s her own breath that grounds her to her body, but tonight Hope’s quiet presence keeps her still. She wants to tell him, “I’m glad you’re here,” but the words stick in her throat, thick with gratitude. 


	7. Sunrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introspective Kishore on a rooftop after Thane comes back

Kishore wakes early and slips out her bedroom window to sit on the roof. No one will look for her here—she isn’t even sure if her family knows that she escapes onto the roof every so often. The house isn’t the tallest building in Westruun, but the view isn’t too bad. 

The sun rises and crests over the city’s walls. Light spills into the streets, bathing everything in gold. Each day, the sun rises later and its warmth weakens. Kishore has never seen it snow. She looks forward to the oncoming winter, if only to experience that.

The city comes to life; she watches it bloom from stillness to motion as the people below begin to go about their days. She’s becoming familiar with the patterns of her new home. There’s comfort in that, but also a spike of fear. The problem with having anything is that it can be taken away.

But she’s recently learned that sometimes lost things, or people, make their way back again.

There’s a hollow sensation in her chest. She draws in a deep breath through her nose, trying to fill the space. It doesn’t work. She knew it wouldn’t. The place where grief once settled is now vacant, and she isn’t sure what to do with it. Maybe this a permanent fixture—an imprint from when Storm was dead–and now Kishore just has to live around it.

She accepts this, easily, gladly, and without regret. 


	8. Jasper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wears the pendant Rahul made her with pride

Kishore proudly wears the necklace Rahul made; it hangs over her sternum, near her heart.

There’s a part of her that wants to tuck it beneath the layers of her robes. She should hide it, protect it against outside eyes. No one needs to know. Bury it deep and no one will use it against her. If she hides it—lets her scarred skin warm the metal—it will fade from knowledge and join her other secrets. There is safety in secrets.

Kishore fights the urge. She is not resigned to shadows. If anything should be on the surface, perhaps it should be this: a rust-red gemstone on a golden chain made her brother against a backdrop of simple, brown clothing made by her sister. 

It is unexpected, but the slight weight of the pendant on her chest is soothing.


	9. Liminal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kishore is non-binary, y’all

Facets of herself have shifted and changed now that she is free, but many things have stayed the same.

In the cult, she was barely a person. She wasn’t allowed to be. Her whole identity revolved around what she had and what she didn’t have. She had her family, she had Thea, and she had a fluttering thing in her chest that cried to be unfettered. She had the growing awareness that her place in the world was wrong, and that she did not have the tools to discover what was right.

Freedom throws light onto many things. Clear-eyed, she looks outwards. She looks inwards. For once, she has the chance to turn over and look at parts of herself and the world that she couldn’t examine before.

Gender has always been a strange concept to Kishore. She saw other miners, saw her family, saw the cultists who stood above them, and many people seemed to fall into general categories, easy as breathing.

Kishore isn’t like that. She knows she is not the right shape for those categories. She accepts the titles of mother and sister and daughter, but only because she’s familiar with those words. Those are the roles she fills, and she is glad to fill them.

Words have limits, and she hasn’t heard the right ones yet to describe herself. “Woman” is not the right word. “Man” is just as ill-fitting.

This is something she’s quietly known about herself for years.

It started when she was pregnant with Ameya. Bodily autonomy was, on the whole, a foreign concept, but carrying another person inside her was different. She chose Ameya, and continued to choose her. She began training with Thea, and her whole focus was on her own body. It made her think about what her body meant to herself and to others. She looked inwards, and saw herself and all the things that didn’t mean. 

What other people think about her doesn’t matter nearly as much as what she knows about herself. Freedom hasn’t changed that. It’s a comfort, being able to trace unchanging pieces of herself, carried from one point in time to another.


	10. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kishore would rather travel than stay in one place

Kishore doesn’t feel homesickness. Her bones were made from the soil of a place she can never go. It’s too late; she wasn’t given the chance to learn the shape of what a home can be. There is no singing in her soul for any one place—not for a skyline or familiar walls or the way her footfalls sound against a cobblestone path.

However, the world sprawls out in all directions. There are no tunnels or dead ends here, at least none that can keep her. Kishore never learned homesickness, but she’s coming to understand wanderlust. To walk the world from one end to the other—that calls to her. 

And if she knows that she’ll always come back to her family, maybe that is the closest she’ll ever come to a home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reading this now is kind of hilarious, since she's done such a 180 from this point of view


	11. Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bath time is “me time” even when the bathtub is way too short

The bathtub is meant for a much shorter person. Kishore is not surprised. She suspects there are many reasons why most goliaths live in the wilderness, and one of those reasons is that everything in civilization is inconvenient. Beds are too short, bathtubs too small, and the simplest articles of clothing must be tailor-made. Even doorways can be treacherous. 

She wedges a chair beneath the doorknob, just in case the lock doesn’t work.

She peels off the layers of her robes—first, the ones that Meera made her, then the ones that she received from Thea when she first began training. The ones from Thea aren’t proper acolyte robes, since Kishore was never a formal follower of Tiamat, but there are similarities. The dark colors, the red thread. The robes her sister made are in shades of brown. Brown was the only color Meera had on hand when Kishore asked for new clothes.

Even with rough fabric and limited time, her sister crafted something that allows both movement and comfort. It’s her outer robes that make Kishore feel like herself. The inner layers are just for extra assurance. 

For a moment, she debates whether she should wash herself or her clothes first. The water is still warm, however, and her body aches.

She curls up in the water, knees against her chest, and just breathes for a few long moments. Then, with efficient, practiced hands, she begins to wash the grime from her hair and skin. The tension in her back and shoulders eases, slowly. Once clean, she folds her legs against her chest, and lets her forehead rest against her knees. 

From below drifts the sounds of a tavern coming to life. Kishore listens until the water goes cold.


	12. Today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of snippets from the longest day ever

Standing outside the tavern, Kishore takes a deep breath. She lets it out slowly, and forces the tension from her shoulders. Her fingers adjust the hood over her head, and she wonders if wearing a hood makes or more or less conspicuous.

Then again, she is taller than most people she meets, so moving unseen takes more effort. A hood likely won’t make much of a difference. She breathes, and focuses only on that. It isn’t the same as meditating, but it will do for now.

Today has been a very long day.

—

Kishore is not a prideful person. There’s satisfaction when she pushes herself and sees improvement, but to carry pride with her is impractical.

So, it costs her nothing to go apologize to Rahul’s employer. There is no pride to hurt, only the feeling of discomfort that comes when she speaks with people she doesn’t know. This conversation is important, for her brother’s sake.

Social discomfort is nothing, especially when she weighs it against all the other things she’s done for her family.

—

Love cannot be forced. It can be learned, cultivated, drawn forth out of dry, cracked stone, but that is not an easy or likely thing. Perhaps more important than any of that is how love can change. Kishore examines her own heart. There is a shell she keeps around herself, but beneath that, the vulnerable parts are so ready to bleed. It wouldn’t take much.

She was not always like this. Before Ameya, the barriers between herself and others were unyielding. 

She can’t find it in herself to regret the change, even though she’ll hurt all the more for it.


	13. Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the Infernal King cultist kills himself, Kishore wonders about the paths she might have taken

The light fades from the cultist’s eyes. He slumps back against the tunnel wall. A final breath leaves his lungs. 

Kishore’s first thought is, _That would have been me._

Once, she was ready to run barefoot on shattered glass if it proved her worth to the temple hierarchy. She wanted to give herself to something bigger; she wanted direction and focus and relief from having to _think_. 

What was physical pain compared to the riot in her own head? What did she gain from being a desperate animal scratching against a relentless cage? What was the point, when the dark seemed endless, and the only light she could see was dragon fire? Who could blame her for wanting that warmth, even if it blackened her soul?

But then there was Ameya, unborn but moving. There was Neelam and Rahul and Meera, together clinging. There was her own mother, slowing fading but still a reservoir of the outside world. There was Thea, offering another path. 

Direction comes from within, not from some unseen goddess. She knows this now, but before? It was the not knowing that would have destroyed her.

The cultist claimed to have powers, but now he’s dead. What use is power in death? Kishore wonders if his life resembled hers. Where did he come from? Was he given choices, or did he think this was the only truth? Could he have been saved, like she was, if things were different?

A chill rolls over her shoulders, and her placid expression begin to crack. She pushes through it, the feeling of falling, and builds up walls between herself and her emotions. It’s a shoddy job, one that will give sooner rather than later. But it’ll hold for now. If Thea were here, Kishore would be ashamed. She knows better than to entertain what-ifs. She knows better than to feel pity for the dead. 

Still, Kishore wishes she had asked for his name.


	14. Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically, Kishore loses her shit for a bit, and it’s uncomfortable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: panic/anxiety attack

She tries to get up when Thane heads back to the tunnels, but her body doesn’t respond.

She looks around to find what’s keeping her down. There’s nothing. She looks at her hands. Shaking hands. Worse than normal. It wasn’t like this yesterday, wasn’t like… She’s fine. She was fine. 

Cold flows through her, a shroud moving over her soul.

Thoughts jump and skip in her mind, fleeting and rushed. Her hands are cold and shaking. She’s still inside, isn’t she, there’s no cold. Not winter yet. 

What is this? This shouldn’t be happening.

The roper’s limbs are still wrapped around her chest. Ribs crush inwards. She was fine a moment ago. There’s nothing here. She is fine. Nothing is here, look, nothing holding her, but the feeling doesn’t go away. She’s both too small and too big in her own body. What’s holding her together if there’s nothing here? 

Thoughts shift, taking different shapes. She hasn’t lost anything, anyone, not today. Not yet. Not _yet_.

Thea. Remember what she. She taught. _You should be better. You know how._

She should be fine. She should be fine. _You are fine. Everyone is fine._ Why isn’t? This isn’t? Who she is. Being underground is all she knew, has a taste of sun changed that so much? Old familiarity press down, chases her months later.

Get up again, try again. _On your feet._ But she’s still sitting.

Stop. Stop it. Thea taught her how to breathe. Kishore’s trying, focusing, but she just stares at her hands. What is happening? She doesn’t understand. Stringing together ideas, unity from one thought to the next. Not here, not now. It doesn’t make sense.

Hope reaches out, and a fragment of her scattered mind goes to him. There, that’s better, his hand keeps her from shaking so much. She doesn’t think it, doesn’t will it, but her hands grasp at his. No drifting. _You’re here._

Let go, not of him, but of that breath. She exhales hard, vision spots, not better. Inhale, stuttering on the intake, keep trying. _Thea told you._ If nothing else, when there’s nothing else, keep breathing. 

It shouldn’t be so hard.


	15. Journal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first night in Kraghammer

Kishore takes off Hope’s boots before she pulls the blankets over him. His lips move, but she can’t hear what he’s saying anymore. She tucks some crimson hair behind his horn and presses a soft kiss to the crown of his head. With any luck, his hangover will be mild. 

She keeps a water skin nearby; he’ll need it in the morning.

Before she sleeps, Kishore writes down everything she saw today, from the teleportation circle to the tavern. She tries to sketch the layout of the city, but she’s never spent much time drawing. The results are rudimentary at best. With time, perhaps, she can improve. Just like with every other skill she’s learned. For Ameya’s sake, she’s willing to try.

In a strange way, Kraghammer is beautiful. The dwarves are proud of their city; the thought and effort that went into it is apparent.

Compared to where she grew up, Kraghammer is very different. Even though the dwarven city is underground, it doesn’t feel much like the cult’s mines. The ceilings are high and carefully carved. There’s enough light that she doesn’t strain to see. The air doesn’t press in, cloying with sweat and dust. Waves of heat rise up from the heart of the city, smelling of fires and metal.

She could never live here for any length of time—now that she’s had a taste of the sky, she refuses to give it up. Still, it’s good to visit. It feels like a special sort of privilege to see parts of the world that she never thought she could see. 


	16. Waves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demiplanes are fucking rad

Her room has a bay window, with a cushioned seat beneath it. The sun is setting; she opens the window and leans out, hands braced on the sill. She breathes in the impossibly pure air. 

This is a dream, it must be.

Red and pink and bruised blues color the sky, and reflect back in the ocean. The air is full of the rushing whispers of waves against sand. She tracks the ebb and flow of water along the shoreline. Birds drift overhead, dancing and twirling on the wind.

Breath catches in her chest. Her mother told her of the ocean, though Venu had only seen it a handful of times. Kishore’s tried to imagine it, but it never looked like this. Are the oceans on her native plane this beautiful? Will she live long enough to find out?

Her hair is still damp from the bath she took. It hangs loose over her shoulder, and a soft breeze catches it, gently drawing it towards the horizon.

Kishore could write for decades and she would never capture a fragment of the beauty here. Maybe she should be filled with questions—about this place, about magic, about what will happen tomorrow—but her mind is calm. It’s easy to accept that she is here, and she doesn’t have to understand in order to appreciate it. Her awe is gentle, warming her from the inside out.

The sun sets, the moon rises, and stars scatter the heavens. None of the constellations are recognizable, and the moon sits too large in the sky. She misses the rest of her family fiercely. They deserve someplace like this, even if only for a short time. 

Here are some truths: The coming days will be difficult and dangerous. Terrible things will happen if they do not succeed, both personally and for the world. Kishore may not make it home. She’s already resigned herself to a life cut short.

But now there’s a chance that she won’t die young. She clings to the possible future Barnock showed her—she turns the vision over in her head, soaking in the simplicity of something good. She wants what she saw. She wants to live long enough for her hair to go grey. She wants that farmhouse, big enough for everyone, including the people she may not know yet but will come to love. She wants to see Ameya grown, strong and steady, starting a family of her own.

It’s strange to want something as abstract as a future. Her life is an unusual one, she realizes, but it’s one that she is determined to live. Even if the vision doesn’t come to pass, Kishore knows how to fight for something better. She isn’t about to stop now.

Starlight fills her room. The shadows around her are soft. Her heart is quiet, despite the things she knows, and the things she doesn’t know.


	17. Suffocate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ettercaps are dangerous

Kishore is thirteen years old when she learns what a person looks like after they’re strangled.

His name is Gerion, and he is new to the mines. There have been more and more new people, but Kishore is too busy helping her mother look after three-year-old Meera and one-week-old Rahul to question the changes happening beyond her immediate family.

She overhears the others talk, though. They say Gerion is quiet and spends most of his time on his own. He came to the cult alone and hasn’t done much to change that. Kishore is still new at having siblings, but she can’t really imagine what it would be like to be all on her own. 

From the few times she sees him, she guesses that Gerion is a few years older than her. An adult, or nearly there. He looks more like a goliath than she does, with her undefined markings and slight build. Maybe it’s sunlight that makes goliaths look like they should; Kishore’s never seen the sun, though her mother has talked about it a lot.

Kishore understands her mother’s stories and descriptions, but she can’t actually imagine most of the rest of the world. If it’s as nice as Mom says, why would Gerion come here? Was he lost and looking for help, like her parents were? 

She never gets the chance to learn the answer. There’s a commotion at the far end of the mines, near where the newest tunnels are being excavated. Someone shouts, and the sound echoes before other raised voices join in. A pair of guards step away from their posts and go to investigate. Kishore cringes away when they pass, and covers Meera’s head with her hands.

Her mother takes Meera off of Kishore’s hip and cradles her alongside Rahul. She gives Kishore a sharp nod. “Be careful, be quick,” she says, voice low.

Whenever there’s commotion, it’s better to find the source, rather than be caught unaware and unprepared.

Kishore ducks her head and trails behind the guards, far enough that they won’t notice her. The mines are mostly shadow, so it’s not hard to stay out of the way.

The tunnel opens up to a cavern—it looks like the mines broke through the wall of the natural caves that riddle the mountain. It’s too dark to see the far end of the cave, but the guards’ torchlight reveals the miners who first shouted. They’re gathered around a body wrapped in a strange, grey-white material.

There’s a clicking, skittering sound along the ceiling. Kishore looks up but can’t see anything. One of the guards drops his torch and reaches for his bow. He’s probably elf-blooded, if he can see what Kishore hears. The other guard follows his lead; they release arrows within moments of each other and then something falls from the ceiling, landing on the floor between the guards and the body. 

It’s almost shaped like a person, but it has too many eyes and a bloated, misshapen body. The limbs are spindling, like a spider. When it tries to get up, claw-like feet scrambling against rock, the guards fire another volley of arrows. It doesn’t move after that.

Kishore won’t risk getting closer. There might be more spider-creatures. She keeps looking up on her way back to her mother. When she describes the creature, her mother says, “Ettercap. They use webs to choke their prey.”

The guards end up dragging both Gerion’s body and the ettercap out of the cavern, and through the tunnels, past Kishore and her family. She puts her hand over Meera’s eyes until the guards are gone.

Gerion’s face and feet are the only visible parts of his body; everything else is bound up in webs. His skin is the wrong color; the light is dim, but enough that Kishore can tell it’s _wrong_. Dark and pale in different places, bluish and purple. His eyes are blank and wide and shot through with red. She stares until she can’t anymore, and tries to swallow back the strange, sick feeling in her throat.

Not for the first time, Kishore wonders what her body with look like after she’s died. 


	18. Profane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After leaving the underdark, Kishore wrestles with what she's seen

The tower is half standing, half rubble. Kishore pauses beneath the largest gap in the ceiling. She pushes her darkvision goggles up to the crown of her head, so she can see the stars properly. 

The night air is cool and sweet, but with a hint of decay—the robust scents of summer have long faded into somber autumn tones.

There is a small relief in this—in being under an open sky, with packed dirt beneath her feet. Mountains loom all around, like silent sentinels, watching the night pass.

She swallows, throat clicking. How will she explain to Ameya that she can’t write this story? How will she admit to the danger she’s faced and still justify leaving? Are there words for the things she’s seen, or does she have to invent them herself? This narrative isn’t one to be simplified or turned into a fairy tale. Too much blood was spilled for this to be watered down into something palatable. 

The gods are real. She’s always known that, but she’s never _felt_ it until seeing Lolth emerge from the portal. She doesn’t understand what Barnock and his wife are, and she’s resigned herself to the fact that she never will. 

Maybe, in another life, she could have understood, but the shadows in her soul make it difficult. Conceptualizing the sky itself seemed impossible for most of her life, how could she even begin to grasp the movements of gods and planes and time?

She wants to pace like an animal caged, wants shout her grief and terror, wants to tear down the firmaments and demand straightforward answers: How to go on after this? Instead, she forces herself to sit on the ground, close her eyes, and breathe. 

There’s no way to know how much the betrayer gods can see, but in case any are watching, she refuses to show her disquiet.


	19. Bruise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kishore, you should know that punching people won't hurt your inner demons

Alistair’s blood splashes across her face; the head falls, eyes gone dull. Kishore looks up at Aritian, nods once, and stalks away from the gathered crowds. Before going home, she ducks into an alley to wipe her face. She schools her expression into something cooler, calmer.

That night, she seeks out one of the fighting rings that pop up in the less-than-reputable parts of Westruun. An itch beneath her skin demands it—the adrenaline and the brutality of a head-to-head fight. This part of herself was supposed to be buried and gone, replaced with the wisdom and skill Thea taught her. Kishore hasn’t felt like this in years, not since Ameya was a baby.

The need to bruise her knuckles and spit blood takes hold, and refuses to let go. Breathing in silence won’t help her now, not yet, and so she throws herself into the ring. The fact that she wins the bout doesn’t matter. She’s only there to chase down and subdue the discord in her veins.

When she returns home, her body aches, but the roar in her head has dulled to a harsh whisper. Ameya is asleep in Rahul’s bed. Kishore does her best not to disturb them while taking off her sweat-damp clothes, and changing into something clean. She falls asleep to the sound of her brother and daughter breathing. 

In the morning, she wakes to find Ameya curled up against her chest.

Here is a question Kishore cannot answer: Why is she free, both in body and mind, while others just as capable as her are fettered?

Alistair is dead and dead things shouldn’t bother her anymore. His words are still sharp, and pointed in all the ways she expected. 

She nearly refused when Aritian asked her to join the interrogation. The need to protect herself, though, wasn’t more important than gathering information, so she went. She’ll be paying for her choices in the days to come.

A distant part of Kishore wonders what name they would’ve given her—Thea’s protege—or would she have been sent out like Alistair, a small cog in a larger, chaotic machine? It doesn’t do to dwell on what might have been. She is not a tool or a weapon to be wielded. At least not by _them_. 

Ameya makes a snuffling sound against Kishore’s shirt. Kishore rubs her thumb back and forth over the shell of Ameya’s ear, something that’s always soothed her, and the small bit of tension in Ameya’s body goes slack. 

Not once has Kishore thought of going back. What she has here, right now, is worth more than anything Tiamat or her ilk could ever offer.


	20. Grave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kishore Meets Ioun AU because Kishore as a grave cleric is a great idea

It’s a distant notion that this is a dream, and she’s asleep in her bed, not in the place she now sees. A field, with dead and dying grasses. Winter gathers at the horizon, a bright wave of cold and grey. The storm approaches slow. The impending blizzard doesn’t concern Kishore, and she turns her back to the mass of clouds and ice.

There’s a tree, spindly and bare. Its trunk has been hollowed out, and filled with books and scrolls. Kishore touches the spine of a reddish-brown book. She doesn’t recognize the language the title’s in, but it’s old. Some languages aren’t known by mortals anymore. Maybe this is one of them.

She blinks, and there are lanterns hanging from the tree’s uppermost branches. Even though they’re far above Kishore, they send out a hearth-like warmth. The world’s dreary colors revitalize, and the grass beneath her feet grows green again. Pale buds appear along the tree’s branches.

The air shifts. She isn’t alone here.

There’s someone behind her, a few paces back. Kishore doesn’t look at them; they aren’t a threat. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had visitors here,” they say, voice low and crackling along the edges like old parchment. “And I don’t believe we’ve ever been introduced. Unusual, for a stranger to venture this far.”

She could wake up now, and this would only be a dream. She could force herself back into the waking world, where things are tangible and real. If Kishore turns around, if she looks at the entity behind her, if they exchange words–there is no going back. Kishore will not be able to undo this. She either ignores it now, or will never be able to again.

It’s in Kishore’s nature, however, to always look, even if it’s hard. Even if it costs her.

Her companion is an older woman, with dark, wizened skin. Her eyes glow with a faint, violet light, and her hair looks as if it’s spun from waves of silver. She wears blue and white robes that flow like an unfurled scroll, and Kishore thinks she sees ink blossom and fade along the edges of the fabric, lines written and erased in a never-ending flow of information. 

A strange wound cuts through the woman’s abdomen, and it almost looks like it’s bleeding darkness and shadows.

She studies Kishore, and a third eye appears on her forehead, completely violet in color. It blinks once, twice, then closes and disappears. Kishore should know who she is–this person isn’t a figment of Kishore’s dream. She’s important. She’s real, but in a way that Kishore doesn’t quite understand.

“You fight alongside one of Pelor’s chosen,” the woman comments.

“Yes.”

“I see the Scaled Tyrant has made her mark. You do not belong to her, though, do you?”

“Not anymore,” Kishore says. A tremor runs through her, seismic, devastating. With it comes the knowledge that she stands over an unmarked grave. It might be hers. “Why am I here?”

The woman–a deity, an immortal–offers a kind smile. “You have questions. You seek truth. For some, that is enough to bring them to me.”

Kishore doesn’t know what to say, so she looks back at the bookcase in the tree. “Whose books are these?” she wonders. A couple titles are in draconic, one is in elvish, another in an older dialect of giant. The longer she looks, the more languages she recognizes, even if she can’t read them. Infernal, undercommon, celestial, orcish. 

“Yours, I think,” the woman replies. She steps closer, robes rustling against the dried grasses. “If you wish to claim them. But knowledge is something to be shared. Would you be willing to let others see what’s been written?”

“Knowledge can be dangerous,” Kishore says. “I would want to be careful.”

“Prudence,” she says with a note of approval. Then, she tilts her head, a critical look in her eyes. “You know who I am.”

Kishore meets her gaze, and yes, she knows. “They said your name in whispers, and called you The Wounded One.”

A wry smile flits across her face. “They weren’t wrong.”

“Ioun,” Kishore says. “The Knowing Mistress.”

The goddess’ third eye flares to life again, searing, searching. There are no shadows or dark corners to hide in, only white-violet light, and the heat from above, and the roiling snow in the distance. 

Curiosity and terror wage a war within Kishore. She stares into the third eye. It stares back. Kishore blinks, and she’s in her bed, staring at the far wall. Ameya is a warm, heavy weight against her back. The house is quiet and dark.

Kishore closes her eyes, but it takes a long time before she can sleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if kishore ever dies and is successfully resurrected, there's a pretty decent chance that this will become canon


	21. Marked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time the cult forces Kishore to fight in the arena

The cult has multiple spaces to pit the slaves against one another, but the most popular fighting ring is in a large, round cavern. The air is thick with the smell of blood and waste, and the sporadic torches along the walls give off a hazy, spectral light.

The central area of the cavern is sunken down, a proper pit to throw combatants. All around the ring are tables and chairs for the most important cultists. The general rabble are relegated to a series of tiered benches. 

In the moments before they take Kishore away, her mother cups her face in her hands. Her fingers shake, and she tucks a lock of Kishore’s hair behind her ear. “There are too many of us,” Venu says, even though Kishore knows why this is happening. “It would be a waste to kill us outright. Do not die, and do not impress them. Be efficient. They want a show, but your life is not for their entertainment.”

Kishore nods, and bites at her lower lip to keep her face from crumbling. “I will come back,” she says.

Beyond her mother’s shoulder, Meera, Rahul, and Neelam huddle at the back of their cell. Rahul and Neelam are too young to understand, but there’s a frightened, knowing light in Meera’s eyes.

Venu presses a kiss to the top of Kishore’s head. 

The door opens. Scant light from the hall lets Kishore see fully the fear in her mother’s eyes, and the uneasy furrow between her dark brows. Kishore stands as tall as she can and refuses to flinch when Nadorim drags her out the door. 

They pass through the twisting cavern tunnels, moving in the opposite direction from the mines. Kishore’s only been this way a handful of times, and disorientation seizes her. With it comes a prickling fear. She tried to keep it at bay, tried not to feel her very bones begin to shiver.

Nadorim has a brutal grip on her upper arm; ragged nails dig into her skin. Kishore isn’t surprised or upset. Never once in her life has he been kind to the miners. Never once has he let them forget that he is in charge of them. Like livestock, though Kishore doesn’t really understand that comparison, and only knows her mother’s eyes burn when she makes it. 

It’s the shouting that she hears first. A bloodthirsty sort of shouting, a dolorous cheer. Her throat is dry, and she tries to swallow but can’t. Nadorim jerks her forward, picking up the pace, and Kishore stumbles. He sneers at her, but she doesn’t fall. He’d like it if she fell. She’s taller than him, so he’ll have to try harder if he wants to topple her.

When Nadorim lets her go, bruises blossom where his fingertips were. They are by far the gentlest bruises she earns that evening.


	22. Unkind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kishore's reasoning and personal boundaries go out the window when babies are involved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i honestly kind of hate this one?

Small trails of smoke rise from the various chimneys in Hillonde. Night falls fast; the sky goes from hazy oranges to navy in a moment.

She’s ensconced herself on the tavern roof, and didn’t tell anyone where she’d gone. The barkeep offered food and drink; she only ate enough to maintain appearances. She craves solitude, even if there are no answers in it. 

Kishore wraps her new cloak tighter around her shoulders. Initially, she’d gone to ask Brian for her cowl back, but he had it swaddled around Henry. Once the babe was in her arms, she forgot all about the cowl she lent to them.

The first time she held Ameya, she felt the same helplessness she saw in Brian’s eyes.

It was a mistake to tell them that they could stay with her. She spoke without thinking, heart softened by the child cradled close to her heart. Her home is not just hers, but her family’s. Sometimes, the concept of home is so foreign to her that she doesn’t even know if she can claim having one. 

Who is she to be inviting others, outsiders, into her family’s home? She doesn’t have the right, nor the qualifications to support the generosity of her words.

Never once has Kishore claimed to be a good person. There’s too much blood on her hands, too many hurts she’s inflicted, and she doesn’t regret what she’s done. Goodness has never been a motivating factor, and whenever she does something to help someone and doesn’t get anything in return, she feels like a caricature of a real person. She’s a fake, moving to steps that are not her own, and will never be hers.

She remembers everything Thea told her. Some lessons ring louder than others; some are so deeply embedded she can’t see the line between herself and what Thea sculpted her into. Where is the break, where does Kishore start and end?

Thea told her, “You were not built for kindness. When you reach out, you leave yourself vulnerable. Mercy is for the weak, and the dead. I knew you from the moment I saw you in the fighting ring. I recognized what you are. You do not let concepts like good and evil cloud what needs to be done. And because of that, you are powerful. You were meant for more.”

With every truth, there’s a corresponding lie. Thea twisted words. Kishore can see that now, can see the way Thea finessed language, guiding words in such a way that Kishore couldn’t even fathom arguing. She sees it now, the manipulation, but she can’t tell the difference between what’s true and what isn’t. 

Inviting Brian and Henry into her home was a rash decision. Benevolence is ill-fitting and chafes against her duties to herself and her family. Nothing else matters, she tries to tell herself. Not the dead nor the dying, not the lost and unsure, and definitely not a pair of strangers, no matter how much they remind her of herself.


	23. Follow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conversation on the Sunkissed Tavern's roof leaves Kishore with more questions than answers

When Thea calls, Kishore responds. 

It’s always been that way, from the very beginning. Thea says ‘jump’ and Kishore jumps, hoping to the unresponsive gods that she jumps high enough. 

Thea always tells her when she doesn’t, so maybe the gods don’t matter at all.

Sunlight brushes over the city like a caress. Kishore speaks to Thea in ways she couldn’t have when she lived underground. How she speaks, what she says, her tone–she wouldn’t have dared, before.

Thea still makes her feel like she’s a child, and it’s not comforting anymore. It’s maddening and Kishore is furious and desolate at the same time.

Kishore loves Thea in an indescribable way. Thea isn’t family like Elspeth and Emery are, she isn’t a romantic interest or filling in for a parent, and to merely call her a teacher is like comparing the sun to stars. Not the same. Not even close.

Maybe that love was manufactured, too, just like Kishore’s obedience and desire to please. Maybe Thea crafted that love as she pulled Kishore from the mire, molding it into the fibers of Kishore’s very being. 

She wants to trust what Thea’s saying. She yearns to trust, to open herself up and let Thea see everything she hides from everyone else. There was a time when no one knew Kishore as well as Thea did, and despite the few months that have separated them, that must still hold true. It’s dangerous, being known. Thea taught her that.

It wasn’t a lie when she told Thea that she’s grieving. Once, she thought she was lucky–she’s suffered far less than some, and her family is free and safe. Her father was never really around, but that feels like less of a loss, and more of a standard.

But to lose someone she didn’t even know she had, to almost get the chance to love someone… An inconsolable heart is the heaviest thing she’s ever carried.


	24. Freeze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Kishore meets Ameya's father

Between fights, they toss her into a small room near the pit. It’s mostly dark; there’s a torch on the wall outside. Dim light filters in through the bars on the door. A bucket half-full of stagnant water rests in the corner, and the rocky ground is stained with blood and old gore. What might have once been a straw bed molders away opposite the water.

There’s a chance the water is drugged. Kishore’s thirst is a terrible thing, but not as terrible as losing control of herself. She learned that the hard way; it’s been years since she last risked eating or drinking anything offered during fights.

Kishore pushes herself upright and slumps against the back wall. Her teeth clench and grind at the way movement aggravates her numerous hurts. She’ll be here for mere moments or several hours, depending on who else is fighting and whether or not those battles are enough to slake the audience’s blood lust.

She’s lucky, all things considered. No broken bones today, though there are plenty of bruises and scrapes and a few cuts that are sure to scar. The blood under her fingernails, and caked into the lines of her hands, is from a half-elf decades older than her. She didn’t know their name, though she’d seen them in the tunnels, same as all the combatants she faces.

The other miners, the ones who don’t fight, won’t look at her anymore. They’ve heard what she can do; they’ll soon learn about how she tore at the half-elf’s hair, gouged at their eyes, sunk her teeth into a sweat-slick throat. 

Her hand shakes, but she runs the back of it over her lips. She spits afterwards, and makes a face at the copper-iron taste of blood that lingers in her mouth.

Meera cried when Nadorim took Kishore away. She buried her face in Venu’s chest, and shook with silent sobs. Kishore wanted to speak, to reassure her, but there were no words. Nothing she could say would’ve helped.

The door opens, hinges creaking and a figure slips into the room. The scant light isn’t enough to see them well, but they’re tall enough to blot out the door. Goliath, possibly, or a half-orc. Not the right silhouette for a dragonborn. Kishore guesses where their face is and glares, teeth bared. Her muscles tense, ready to stand, to fight, to run.

The figure lifts their hands in supplication, and then they kneel on the ground. Now that they aren’t blocking the light, Kishore finds herself looking at another goliath. Male, close to her in age, bald head with splotchy markings on his skin. Not anyone she knows. He’s not from the tunnels. 

Their eyes meet and he looks almost startled, before his gaze darts around the room. Eventually, he looks back at her, head turned a little bit to the side, as if he’s hesitant to meet her straight on.

“How badly hurt are you?” he asks in Giant, voice a low rumble. 

Kishore says nothing. Her eyes narrow.

“I have some healing supplies,” he continues, and pulls a bag off his back. “Bandages, salves, things like that. Have you had anything to eat or drink?” He casts a dubious look at the water bucket in the corner.

“Get out,” Kishore growls. Isn’t it enough, the things she has to do to survive, and now they torment her with a kind face and questions meant for people who matter?

“But–”

“Why are you here? Leave.”

“Let me help you, please.”

Kishore recoils and scoffs. “In exchange for what?”

“Nothing,” he claims, and shifts closer. 

Kishore moves away, keeping the distance between them.

He sighs and leans back on his heels, then sits with his legs crossed. He starts taking things out of his bag–the supplies he mentioned, a waterskin, a half loaf of bread wrapped in white cloth. The items are spread out between them, almost like an offering, and his voice is a soft murmur while he empties the bag.

“Not everyone thinks the pits are a good idea. There are better solutions to what the mine keepers want to achieve; mindless slaughter shouldn’t always be the first option. The Prismatic Queen doesn’t favor brute strength over cleverness–both have their place in her dominion.”

“So you’ll control us through humane treatment?” Kishore asks, acid dripping from her words.

He shrugs, and there’s something almost abashed about the movement. “I think there’s more to gain through cooperation than through domination. Not all conquest has to be bloody.”

“You’re delusional.” Or heretical, but Kishore doesn’t care either way.

“I’m not the only one who thinks this way.” He picks up the waterskin and a roll of bandages. “Please, let me help. I have a little bit of time before your next bout.”

Kishore isn’t sure what changes–maybe her expression or the set of her shoulders–but he approaches, shifting incrementally across the ground. Kishore lets him; he pours some water onto a wad of bandages and reaches out towards her face.

Instead of flinching or fleeing, Kishore freezes, eyes wide. Her breath catches in her throat, and she doesn’t know if she can move.

“There’s blood on your face,” he says, an almost-smile at the corner of his mouth. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

Against all reason, she believes him, and breaks out of her petrified state. Her breath leaves her in a sigh, and she nods.

If he does hurt her, she’ll snap his neck. He likely knows this, but he starts cleaning the blood and dirt and sweat from her face anyway. He smells like mossy dirt and steel. Kishore’s eyes close; she refuses to lean into his gentle touch.

“My name’s Vakan,” he tells her. “I’m not too important in the cult’s hierarchy, but I want to help you if I can. If you’ll keep letting me. You’re impressive in the ring, but…” A pause, and she looks up at him. He’s frowning, conflict in his eyes. “You deserve better than this. You could be more.”

She squeezes her eyes shut. Maybe if she keeps them shut, he won’t see the flicker of hope on her face.


	25. Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's never seen snow before

She finds herself outside Westruun’s walls more and more these days. The Ravagers approach from the south, closer each day. Their scouts are getting bolder, creeping into sight during daylight hours. The Shields fire arrows from the parapets to scare them off, but it’s only a temporary remedy.

Kishore relearns the lessons her mother taught her as a child—how to follow the tracks of creatures in the wilderness, how to read the clouds and winds to predict oncoming weather, how to use the landscape to her advantage.

The knowledge comes back to her quickly. Between Venu’s reminders and the practical use of those reminders, Kishore feels more and more confident in her new skills. She notes the movements of the Ravager scouts, watches the horizon for their campfires, and reports anything out of the ordinary to Tyr.

There’s no solid reason for it, but she finds herself trusting him more than the other authorities in the city. Perhaps because they’ve both spent time skulking through the shadows, there’s a strange sense of camaraderie between them. Or, more likely, Kishore respects the people who learn about her past and don’t treat her differently because of it. 

Meera’s told Kishore to invite her “guard friends” over for dinner, talking about Kishore’s contacts in the Shields and Swords. Kishore doesn’t have the heart to admit that any friends she does have are in Emon. Meera’s secondhand invitations go unspoken.

The sun rises, but heavy cloud cover obscures it. The landscape goes from night-dark to pale grey; the trees wear their autumn colors and the weather is the coldest Kishore’s experienced so far. She walks a long the edges of the western woods, heading south towards the gates closest to her home.

A swift wind picks up, cutting across the plains. Last night, she said, “It might rain tomorrow,” to her mother. 

Venu inclined her head in a half-nod and offered a non-committal sound. At the time, Kishore was confused–between the clouds and the winds the last few days, her predictions should be correct. If she’s wrong, at least Venu is letting her figure it out on her own, instead of feeding her the answer outright.

A small speck of white cuts across her vision, then another and another. Kishore’s breath leaves her, a soft, “Oh,” spoken into the quiet. Not rain, then, though she predicted precipitation. Snow—a smattering of flakes tossed by the wind, crisscrossing in a chaotic descent.

She holds her hand out; the snow melts as soon as it touches her skin. There’s a tight knot in her chest, just behind her sternum. It’s something like grief, but not quite. Goliaths are meant for cold weather. It’s something woven into the fibers of their being. Kishore has never seen snow until this moment. 

Tragedy and wonderment wage a gentle war within her thoughts.


	26. Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She doesn't trust the man who trained Thea, but she will heed his teachings

She settles at the highest spot on the roof of her home. Beneath, her family sleeps, safe for now. She won’t wonder where Elspeth and Hope are, or if they’re sleeping and unharmed. Any worry she could feel now has already been felt, every idea already thought. There is nothing she can do.

Moonlight washes over her.

Kishore ties the blindfold over her eyes again, blotting out her vision. The cotton fabric is worn to softness. She swallows back the tides of fear that push at her in the dark. 

Breath ghosts from her lungs, a dissipating mist in the chilled night air. The stranger–River–said this would only work if she was calm. Another breath. Spine straight, shoulders relaxed. Calm isn’t just a state of mind, it’s a state of body, of existence.

This used to be easier. Ironic, considering she’s in a better situation now than she’s been most of her life, the imminent Ravager attack notwithstanding. There’s less weight in her heart, but more uncertainty. Somehow.

Half asked questions come to her–Thea never spoke of her life before following the Prismatic Queen. She never told Kishore where she learned her abilities.

“If I ask, will you tell me about her?” she asked after they sparred.

River agreed, but then added, “She’s not the same.”

Kishore isn’t the same, either. 

How did Thea shift from student to servant? Why would she choose that?

Perhaps, if Kishore learns what happened to Thea, she will escape a similar fate.

Calm, she reminds herself. Focus. Feel the roof tiles beneath her, the hear the house settling in the cooling air. A slight breeze, the rustle of dry, dead leaves. There’s a heartbeat to everything. Existence, living or otherwise, creates ripples throughout the world.

It’s a concept she’s heard before, but she never believed it until today.

A heartbeat, her own, steady here inside her chest. The heartbeat of the city, of the house, the people inside. Microcosms within microcosms. Ki is everywhere.

The world goes bright, even though her eyes are closed, blindfold still fastened tight. She is a form, full of flicking, shifting light. The slope beneath her exists in relief–she can see the textures of the tiles. The nearby tree, branches heavy with unfallen leaves, shifts; a squirrel skitters down a branch, jittery and fast. A quicksilver movement, like the life of the squirrel itself.

There’s a limit to this, but she sees past the roof. Ameya is in the room below, asleep in bed. Hope and Elspeth’s rooms are vacant, yawning with a lack of life, but still existing, responding to the ki within Kishore’s body.

She takes another breath, releases her focus, and the world goes black again. Just her and the blindfold. For a long moment, she stays like that–still and unseeing. The dark doesn’t evoke fear in her anymore. In its absence, a sense of peace finds a place within her, unsure, but ready to make a home.


	27. Fiend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kishore gets the killing blow on a pit fiend in the Shadebarrow

For the second time in as many moments, Kishore’s eyes snap open. The bitter, medicinal taste of a potion fills her mouth. Cihro is crouched over her, eyes resolute, not as panicked as before, but there’s still fear there. Kishore’s scared, too. 

That’s nothing new.

“Make it count,” he tells her.

When the right person gives an order, she follows. Somehow, she finds her feet and doesn’t sway where she stands. 

The beast is haggard; shaking and bleeding and struggling to catch its breath. She’s never fought anything quite like this before, but she reads the signs all the same.

Eyes closed, she sees the fiend’s red-tinted, murky ki flicker in the gloom. A guttering candle, waiting for a swift wind to snuff it out. Kishore is more rock than breeze, more shadow than air, but by the gods it doesn’t matter.

It didn’t matter when they forced her to fight other slaves, it didn’t matter when staring down trolls and Ravagers and cultists. This is just another fight, with another enemy ready to die.

She passes through the shade that separates her from the pit fiend, and appears at its side in the blink of an eye. 

Her quarterstaff hits the back of its knees, and it tumbles to the ground. It lands on its back, and its wings crack under the weight. A deep bellow, rage and pain and hatred, rends the air. Kishore leaps onto the prone body and drives her staff straight through its chest, shattering the sternum, rib cage, crushing the spine. 

She pulls her staff up and out, tearing the fiend’s life along with it. She jumps away, feet finding solid ground again; the body begins to disintegrate.

It doesn’t matter what she is, or what she isn’t. Death meets her enemies all the same.


	28. Fury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to Caius, for making Kishore truly, deeply angry

This is his responsibility to fix. He started this, he chose this path again and again, and now his brother is dead and he needs to _fix this_. Kishore is familiar with anger, but the targeted fury she feels towards Caius right now startles her.

How can someone driven to do good manage to get everything so wrong? It’s the demon’s influence, it has to be. Kishore’s seen it so many times–people steadfast in convictions that are justified by some sinister, higher power. Reason is easy to twist, and difficult to fix.

Even as Aritian’s body cools, Caius tries to pin the blame elsewhere–it was the magical circle in the middle of the ruins, it was the cultists they chose to kill, the blood spilled, Aritian’s fault for standing where he was standing when lightning coursed through his body.

No. Kishore will not accept that. She cannot and will not put any stock in what Caius says or believes. There is only one person here who could have stopped all this, and with every step he _didn’t_. 

If they don’t get Aritian back to the city in time, or if the magic fails and his soul can’t be retrieved, Kishore will tear Caius’ soul in half with her bare hands if needed. She will sunder the parasite from the host, and then they will make the demon bring them to the Abyss. They will retrieve Aritian’s soul and return to the material plane. Caius will help every step of the way. He does not get a choice, not after everything. 

If he tries to leave or sacrifice himself or anything else that would keep him from facing the effects of his choices, Kishore will use every power, every skill at her disposal to keep him from his goals. There isn’t going to be an easy way out for Caius. Kishore will see to that.


	29. Steady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kishore meditates while Cihro uses her as a kickstand

Outside the Swords’ barracks, Kishore sinks to the ground, legs crossed and spine straight. Cihro stands nearby. He isn’t hovering, or being restless, but she pats the grass, inviting him to sit. 

Kishore’s heart aches. It’s been aching for days, and she wonders what will make it stop. 

She closes her eyes and rests her hands on her knees, palms up, fingers lax. Breathe, she tells herself. Breathe–create a base in the most innate action. The rest will follow.

Silently, Cihro sits beside her. She shifts so her arm brushes his shoulder, and he doesn’t move away from the contact. 

All things considered, she still isn’t very good at having friends or being one. Kishore is well aware of her own intensity–once decided upon a path or a person, there’s little else to be done. Her family expands, and with each new addition, she puts herself in more danger. 

Thea would call her foolish. Kishore can’t quite come up with a counterargument. If dragonfire doesn’t get to her first, it’ll be the attachments of her heart that destroy her.

The flow of air in her lungs creates a steady base for her unsettled mind and chaotic heart. This, just breathing, is a starting point she can always come back to. Cihro leans against her, his head pressed to her arm; she doesn’t sway.

Heartache is soothed by small, simple truths: she is steady both for herself and for the people around her. Bearing the weary weight of more than one soul doesn’t make much of a difference. She keeps breathing.


	30. Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party meets Pike Trickfoot, and Kishore can't shake the fear of Vox Machina that the cult programmed into her

She keeps her expression impassive, though her heart hammers fast and panicky inside her chest. Her palms go clammy, and every muscle in her body is strung taut. She’s ready to _run_. She wants to run, to back out of the room, to slink away like some shadowy creature, afraid of anything bright.

Day and Aritian are in awe, fumbling over themselves while talking to the cleric. Kishore’s world shivers, dissonant, and she doesn’t quite know if any of this is real–she clings to cognizance by the tips of her fingers. 

She doesn’t want to be here.

Kishore looks at the cleric, and she sees a woman with more power than she’ll ever be able to understand. She hears the stories that circulated the mines–the cleric who plays with the lines between life and death again and again, who easily calls fire from the sky and tremors from the earth, stronger than she seems in both body and mind. To look too long at her meant blindness, for the Everlight’s favor shrouds her in a shield of light.

Kishore is terrified and she hates this so much, because she knows everything they told her was a lie. She knows that Pike Trickfoot and her companions are seen as heroes on the surface. Still, Kishore speaks out of turn, and questions the cleric’s actions. 

She’ll have to apologize to the margrave later–he deserves his family back, but Kishore doesn’t want to see his father in power again. She can’t shake the sick churning in her gut when she thinks about watching the resurrections without saying anything first.

It frightens her, too, that when the margrave called, the cleric answered. 

What could Kishore possibly offer him that wouldn’t be outshone by the cleric’s mere presence? What knowledge does she possess that stands up to the power the cleric wields? 

Is all of this some sort of cruel trick? Kishore is helpless again, forced into stillness, watching from outside herself. 

There’s a hand on her back, and she startles. Cihro’s beside her, his expression mostly neutral, but questioning, too. Breath rushes out of her–why was she holding it, and for how long? Her head pounds in time with her wild heart, and how can she respond to him when she can barely string one thought to the next?

She does the only thing she can–she focuses on his hand like an anchor, and desperately tries to stay within her own body.


	31. Icy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, they didn't die during the dragon fight, but there's little relief in that

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: mentions of being forcibly sedated

Traces of ice and frost still cling to Kishore’s shoulders and hair. Once the dragon and its rider are gone, she steps out of her hiding spot and scans the clearing. She should go make sure everyone is safe, should check on Krusk–no, it wouldn’t help. Her eyes sweep over his brutalized body. Skin and bone and blood and organs; she doesn’t move towards what remains.

Everyone else is alive. Day dashes to Krusk’s body, and Kishore doesn’t watch.

She steps to Cihro’s side and drops a hand onto his shoulder. His response is immediate, fumbling. He grabs onto her hand, and holds on tight. His skin is icy and his face pale; he looks like she feels right now–shaking, disquiet, hurting.

She pulls him closer and he tucks himself against her side. Both for her sake and his, she focuses her breathing: maintains a fixed pattern of inhale, exhale, inhale again. Cihro matches his breathing to hers, and between calming breaths and the warmth of Kishore’s proximity, the shaking subsides.

–

The scope of what Tiamat’s followers are doing stretches far beyond what Kishore ever supposed. Stealing people, power, relics–yes. That makes sense. Forcing conflict and death wherever they go–she’s seen that, she’s _been_ that.

Experimentation on living subjects? Changing a person’s body in unnatural ways? Krusk’s words set Kishore on edge. She begins to question her past, to doubt what she’s seen and what thought she knew. There are gaps–spots of complete darkness–in her memories. Not many, but there were times when _they_ sedated her with magic or potions, food or drink laced with poison. It was useless to fight it, though she always tried.

She’d come to terms with those gaps, with what they likely did to her while she was unconscious. Now, the darkness coalesces. The peace she once had breaks into discord. It could be nothing–it could be everything.

Who she was within the cult and the time that’s passed since gaining her freedom both conspire against her. She knows even less than what she supposed. Again and again new information comes to light, and she is disarmed. 


	32. Refugee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kishore enlists a fae person to deliver a goliath child back to Westruun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm gonna fight my dm bc he knows all of kishore's weak spots

> Kishore folds the two letters into thirds and brings Anya’s hands up to hold them. She looks up at Kishore, eyes both seeing and seeing through her.
> 
> “Once you’re in Westruun, give the top letter to the first guard you see, and they’ll take you to my house,” Kishore says in giant. “Then give the second letter to my family.”
> 
> The girl nods, still absent, but her fingers grasp onto the letters. She brings the letters close, clutching them against her chest.
> 
> “I’m sending you to my mother. Her name is Venu, and she’ll look after you.”
> 
> “Okay.”
> 
> If she could do more, or say more, to help–Kishore stops herself from that line of thought. This is the only option she can live with. Doing more would be just as impossible for her as doing less.

—

Shield of Westruun,

Please escort the holder of this letter to Palebloom Hall on the Brambleview Estate grounds. Leave her in the care of either Venu Malaikkalam or Meera Maallinen. Her name is Anya. She is a refugee from a Ravager attack and should be treated with all due courtesy and care.

Thank you,

Kishore Maallinen, member of Margrave Zimmerset’s anti-cultist council

—

Mother,

We are still in the Frostweald as I write this, safe for the moment.

We interrupted a mining operation run by the Ravagers in league with Tiamat. There were several slaves in the mine, and most were killed in the fight that ensued. The girl before you is one of the survivors. Both of her parents were casualties.

Her name is Anya, and she was from the Herd of Storms–the proper Herd of Storms, not the bastardized group you once left. According to what information we gathered, Ravagers have either killed or captured the members of the herd.

I have few other options; a duergar survivor offered to take Anya with him to his home in the underdark. That is no place for a child, especially one who has lost everything. I know it’s a lot to ask of you and everyone else, but please look after her. Just for the time being.

There’s nowhere else for her to go; I will figure out a better place for her once I’ve returned.

Give my love the others,

Kishore


	33. Wisdom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [It is both a curse and a blessing to feel everything so very deeply.](https://rosdottir.tumblr.com/post/179806960022/i-lied-about-the-series-being-complete-i-forgot)

_You’re slipping. Showing that tender underbelly, that delicate heart. I couldn’t cut it out of you, burn or beat it from you, so I taught you how to hide your weakness. Freedom’s softened you, child. You’re forgetting your lessons. You will be your own downfall. But I always knew that._

Thea’s voice echoes in the back of Kishore’s head. They aren’t words she’s ever said, but ones that ring loud and true regardless. 

Kishore stands at the edge of the glade, looking out into the woods. Behind her, the party drinks fae-wine and laughter follows. She takes a deep breath, so deep that the wintery air scorches her lungs. Inhale through her nose, exhale through her mouth.

There’s a strange lightness to her body. When the spear broke, when the curse vanished, a weighted darkness lifted from her like a veil. It’s less of a relief than she hoped. 

She is unsteady, unstable, ready to topple over when the next blow comes. It was right to ask Day more about the spear, but it was wrong of her to lash out in anger afterwards. He did everything correctly. It’s her own feelings that got in the way.

Thea may have taught her many things, but she didn’t instill what wisdom Kishore has. She only taught her how to _use_ that wisdom. Anything that Kishore has of her own was gifted to her by her mother. Knowledge, wisdom, love.

Venu once told Kishore, “All anger is grief in disguise.”

It was after a fight, fear adrenaline still in her veins. Her clenched fists were red with another slave’s blood. Kishore choked on tears and vitriol, furious at what they made her do. She was sixteen and heartbroken over the calluses on her hands, the scars on her skin. So many things couldn’t be undone.

“Anger is grief in disguise.” It’s true. Every moment of anger is rooted in sorrow. It’s a defense mechanism, a way to bolster her up instead of letting her fall into despair. That’s the key difference between anger and grief–one demands action, the other demands stillness.

Inhale. Exhale. She isn’t ready to mourn Thane twice, thrice, but she may not have a choice. Words caught in her throat, and she wasn’t able to explain that to Cihro at the orc camp. So, she was angry, but her heart was sorrowing. 

Inhale. She isn’t mad at Day for helping; gratefulness pushes to the forefront of her mind. She’s mad at herself, for thinking that she could use Tiamat’s own tools against her.

Exhale. The choice stolen from her wasn’t about using the weapon or not–she would’ve chosen against it if she knew the truth. The choice was… How can she explain that they turned her into a weapon, and she let them, because there wasn’t a choice? How can she put into words the horrible things that had to happen for the sake of survival? It’s one of the reasons why she picked up the spear, why she favors a quarterstaff over her own fists–she is a broken tool, was never whole, but at least she still has possession over herself.

Inhale. Exhale. The anger is long gone, a cold, dark ember in her chest. Fear and grief sweep through her, a deadly kind of venom.


	34. Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kishore learns the fate of an old friend

After the fight, Kishore looks up at the weathered statue of Kord that overlooks the campsite. The darkness makes him appear severe and unyielding. Time wears away the stone he’s made from, but he still cuts a solid figure against the navy-black sky. 

But time marches on still. He is a sentinel over an empty temple, guarding a bodiless congregation. 

Kishore wonders what faith feels like. She wonders about devotion, the shapes it takes, and the strength it can give. It isn’t for her. It never will be. Her soul is not meant to house a power beyond herself.

It isn’t a prayer–Kishore doesn’t have the heart to pray–but she offers the Stormlord her gratitude. Maybe he isn’t here, maybe he isn’t watching this place or the people in it. But if he is, then Kishore doesn’t want to seem ungrateful.

Help is always welcome, even if it comes from a place she can’t visit.

—

The party makes their way out of the tunnel. Shale follows at a slow, steady pace. Kishore pauses and waits until Shale is beside her.

“Do you know Thane?” she asks in giant, voice low.

Shale nods, but her expression is unreadable.

Kishore steels herself. “Is he alive?”

There’s a wan look on her wizened face. She shakes her head. “The last I saw of him was when he stood up against their commander. The red one touched Thane with that unnatural hand, and he fell on the spot. He… He crumbled to ash.”

A wave of weakness passes through Kishore. She leans on her quarterstaff for a moment, and pulls in a shaky breath. When she speaks again, her voice is grief-roughened. “That sounds like him, to face evil without flinching. Thank you for telling me.” 

Her eyes are wet, and her sight murky. She unevenly brushes the heel of her hand over the tears. It’s enough; her vision is no longer clouded.

Shale kind of bumps into Kishore, and leans out with her stump before whispering softly, “I remember, you know. He told us of you. He spoke very highly of you and… most of your friends. He was definitely stubborn, and never backed down. But… he also bought some of us time to get away. I think he knew what was going to happen, but he still did it anyways.”

Kishore smiles, but it’s a joyless thing. “He was good to me and my family. Kept us safe.” She swallows back the weight in her throat. “There aren’t many other ways he would’ve wanted to die. He’s at the Stormlord’s side now, unashamed.” She speaks the words, but doesn’t feel them.

Shale gives a sad smile and looks away. She’s unable to meet Kishore’s gaze again, and so continues after the rest of the party.

Kishore stands there in the dark, rooted to the rock beneath her feet. Her eyes close. She wishes she could see a different world when she opens them. 


	35. Tired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kishore feeling empathy for a stranger??? We're blaming Theren.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not in the hadrean/kishore fic bc hadrean isn't actually here, just talked about, and besides--this is more about kishore anyway

She sees in Hadrean a kind of fatigue that she knows almost as well as she knows herself. It’s the soul-draining tiredness of meeting only dead ends, of never quite washing away the blood on her hands, of running into a wall again and again without change. Gods, she knows.

There is no way she could save this entire city. Cinder is too large, too powerful of a settlement for her to save or destroy. She doesn’t want to do anything to Cinder. She only wants to survive it.

Theren is right–they can’t help most of the people here, not directly. When she first heard that Theren offered Hadrean help, she thought he was being foolish. Overreaching where they can’t go, but after meeting Hadrean–her opinion shifts. He doesn’t know her history, doesn’t even know what her face truly looks like. Kishore feels strangely seen upon meeting him, even though he’s not actually looking closely.

But when she looks at him, really looks, she sees a man who has all but given up. That scares her for reasons she can’t fully articulate.

There was a time when she was sure she would die violently in the fighting pits. In the dark, alone. And yet, she kept fighting, all while knowing it was pointless. Hadrean is a mirror to her past self. Of course, there are others like him. Other fighters, slaves, bound to how much they can bleed.

Those people haven’t risked their safety by telling her and Theren about the city, its history. Before the cult overtook it.

Hadrean… doesn’t try to mask his facial expressions. He’s so tired, even the threat of pain isn’t enough to deter him from offering what information he has. It’s a risk trusting anyone, especially in Cinder, but she believes Hadrean is being as forthright as he can.

Besides, Theren has good intuition–she trusts his judgement. 

When Thea asks for help with the prison break, Kishore’s thoughts immediately go to Hadrean, a prisoner of a different sort. If his words are true, he’s just as fettered as the people in detention block. Everyone wears their chains differently.

Cinder is a behemoth, impossible to truly harm. When she leaves this place, she will be leaving innocent people behind to save herself and her own. She’s done that once before, escaping the mines with only her family beside her.

But… maybe this time she can help one person, someone who lives in a place of quiet desperation and exhaustion. Someone who still finds a way to be kind to the people around him, whether or not he knows them. 

While listening in on his argument with Epiphany that morning, she only caught the tail end, but she knows that Hadrean would rather take harm on himself than put Epiphany in danger.

Kishore recognizes that, too.

Doubt sits heavy in her gut, wriggling, uncomfortable. She’s done this before–promised more than she had to offer. Even so, she goes to the tavern to speak with Hadrean again. Her words are sure, even if their delivery is stilted. Strangers still make her nervous, especially here, and she knows next to nothing about this man. She doesn’t know what to make of him any more than he knows what to make of her. There’s some degree of comfort in equally unsteady ground.

Coming to Cinder was a risk. Everything they’ve done here has been a risk. Offering Hadrean some semblance of freedom, a way out, is a risk, too.

But it’s a risk she’s willing to take, if it means that one person doesn’t give up like she almost did.


	36. Daughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [insert an It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia title card here that reads "Kishore Visits Hell"]

For the first time in twenty years, Khuvith calls Kishore his daughter. 

For the first time in twenty years, it’s never felt less true. 

The knowledge hurts, deeply, a wound that will bleed for a long time. But with pain comes awareness: The man her mother still loves–the strong, gentle, soft spoken man that lives in Kishore’s earliest memories–is no longer housed in that body.

Kishore is disarmed. The quickened blood in her veins does nothing against the pull of magic, and the clawing, seeking tendrils of devilish shades that tear her out of existence.

She lands on her feet. Everything is a blur of crimson and umber, burnt orange and black. The sounds of an unearthly war–of metal clashing against metal, of hisses and screams, of bellowing monsters–fill the scorching air. 

Beneath her feet, the earthen ground is dry and cracked. Above, roiling clouds press down, blanketing, oppressive, dark. Red lightning arcs along the ceiling of the world, darting in and out of the clouds, only striking the highest mountains in the distance.

Hell. She’s in _Hell_. The first circle, maybe. What else can those sounds be but the Blood War? 

The still air is rent apart by a harsh gust of wind, smelling of sulfur and charred flesh. Kishore has to brace herself, staff and feet planted, to keep from being knocked over. The burst goes one way, then turns back on itself, twisting and swirling like a cyclone around her. Particles of dust fly up, obscuring her vision.

And just as quickly as it rushed through, the wind is gone. 

The last thing she saw, before hearing her father’s voice, was Cihro’s face on the other side of a rapidly closing door. His horror mirrored hers, and she was ready to turn back, to bring him into the fight–she could’ve made it, the effects of the potion still race through her. 

There’s a cluster of rock pillars a few yards away, sitting at the edge of a chasm. Kishore bolts towards them, hackles raised at the thought of being out in the open. She uses the shadows like stepping stones in a pond, moving from the desiccated plain to the shelter of craggy columns.

The tallest spire isn’t made from stone, though; she reaches out and brushes red dust from the dark, weathered dome of a humanoid skull. The entire thing is made from bone, from skulls of people and creatures, shattered shards and intact remains alike. 

Her index finger and thumb rub against each other, feeling the gritty dust between the pads of her fingers. The dead don’t frighten her. The grit in her eyes and beneath her feet is nothing she hasn’t endured before. 

The spire is taller up close. Dark, empty eye sockets stare in every direction, a collection of fruitless sentinels. She’s seen worse. A tower of skulls? Hell will have to try harder to make her soul quake. 

The smaller formations around it are mere rock, and they cast long shadows. She tucks herself between them, finding a place with the most cover. Her body curls into a ball. Now isn’t the time to fight. Right now, she needs to hide.

Sweat trickles down her spine. Her lungs cry for coolness. She doesn’t dare take anything out of her bag right now, but she mentally runs through her supplies.

What sort of spell brought her this far from home? How long is she here for? Until they kill what’s left of her father? Or does this last indefinitely? How long can she survive on just what she has with her?

A long time, actually. If nothing kills her first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> banishment is a basic bitch spell, and i hope my dm sees this 
> 
> also, why the fuck did i say "lmao charisma is gonna be her lowest stat" like an idiot at the beginning of the campaign??


	37. Guide

Cihro’s hand finds hers. He tugs her down so she’s close enough to hear his softly-spoken words.

“In case I forget, I love you.”

Kishore exhales. When she woke this morning, her mind was caught in the Feywild’s fog. Entire people were plucked from both sight and memory–and for most of the party, those memories are still obscured.

Remembrance and emotion are tricky. Luckily, Kishore can navigate even the strangest terrains.

Venu didn’t recognize her for years, too lost in her own grief. Learning the truth of that grief only reinforced Kishore’s original assumption: her mother’s heart is a wounded thing, and even the strongest people need to rest when hurt.

Khuvith knew Kishore in a technical sense–it’s possible he was dead long before wearing the blue mask, but something of himself still lingered. He only truly saw her before he died. The look on his desiccated face wasn’t one of accusation or hatred. He said her name, and it wasn’t spoken as a weapon.

Never once has Kishore doubted her parents’ love for her. In a life built upon shaky foundations, knowing she was loved and capable of loving in return might be what guides her towards the light.

Kishore’s smile is muted. Using his hold on her hand, she pulls Cihro into a hug, quick and firm and with all the expected awkwardness that comes with their height difference. His words aren’t necessary, but they are appreciated. She kisses the top of his head.

When she releases him, she lets a hand linger on his shoulder. With a soft squeeze, she says, “Heads forget. Hearts don’t.”


	38. Coward

The coward’s way out is too tempting to ignore. She scales the nearest tree to escape the tension smothering her party and their new additions. Ostensibly, Kishore can claim practicality. Scouting ahead, finding a decent place to camp—that’s all very important.

It’s not the only thing she’s fled from today. Somehow, even knowing the illusion of Tiamat was just that—an illusion—an old cave dirt taste of shame fills her mouth. 

Until now, facing Tiamat was a fantastical hypothetical. When indulging in flights of fancy, Kishore imagined herself in a dozen different scenarios where she’d face the Dragon Queen. Not a single time does she run away. Hides, yes. Trying to attack from afar, from a place of safety, yes. Conserving her resources, keeping a clear mind—of course.

Mostly, she dies. No fight or plan would truly be a threat to Tiamat. If Kishore were to ever face her, she would die.

Her foot slips on a branch, but she catches herself before falling. The sheer confusion, the terror, the sense of being outside herself even while feeling every piercing, horrible thing her mind and body felt—she never accounted for that. Running away, blindly fleeing like an animal—that part of her life was done, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it supposed to be done?

The swathes of days erased from her memory affords no comfort. Would she have been braver if she knew where she was, and why, before facing the illusion’s five-headed visage? Does being brave matter? What ifs and could bes have no weight, really. There’s only what happened, and what she did, or failed to do.

Regardless, it reinforces something she already knew: Bahamut chose poorly when he chose her. 

She returns to the trees once camp is made. She watches her companions from shadowed boughs. Day wipes tears from his face after talking to his parents; Cihro hugs his father. They all match, don’t they? Parents and children—shared appearances and mannerisms and history, even as short as that history might be.

Kishore aches fiercely, both for her friends and for herself. 

Her body feels what her head cannot remember—nearly two weeks of being here, in this strange, strange place. She misses her daughter and her mother. She misses home.


	39. Stride

Meraxes can wait, and the city isn’t in immediate, dire need of her. Kishore tries to wrap her head around the time skip and the smattering of messages that just caught up to her–it can all wait.

She volunteers to take Chandrelle, Osswald, and Zephir back to Brambleview manor. Besides, she’d rather hear Westruun’s news from her family–from Elspeth–than from Meraxes. 

Kishore shortens her stride to accommodate Day and Cihro’s parents. If it weren’t for them, she’d be sprinting home. _Deep breath. Patience_ , she tells herself. Fifteen minutes won’t make a difference after twelve months.

To her slight annoyance, Chandrelle falls into step with her. Kishore is an adult and can act like one. She spares Chandrelle a glance, and doesn’t speed up.

After a minute or two, Chandrelle speaks. “A manor?” she wonders, not critically or doubtfully, just curious. 

Zephir and Osswald are close enough that Kishore doesn’t have to raise her voice to be heard. She senses both men tune into the conversation, stepping slightly closer.

Kishore’s reply is clipped. “We cleared out the previous residents. They were involved with the Cult of the Infernal King. The city gifted the estate to Aritian and his brother once the manor was livable again.”

“Cleared out?” Chandrelle says. The corner of her mouth curls into an almost-smile. “You make it sound like an infestation.”

“How else should I describe cultists?” Kishore glares, but quickly schools her expression into something more neutral. Chandrelle doesn’t deserve her ire here, at least. What she knows about Kishore’s history couldn’t fill a thimble.

Chandrelle inclines her head. “It’s kind of Aritian and his brother to let others live in their home.”

“Yes,” Kishore agrees, tone softening. “It is kind.”

Chandrelle doesn’t speak again. Kishore’s shoulders loosen with relief.


End file.
